


Strong Medicine

by Moonraykir



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Battle of Five Armies Fix-It, Chicken Soup, Everybody Lives, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Post-Battle, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-23
Updated: 2020-05-23
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:42:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24340762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moonraykir/pseuds/Moonraykir
Summary: Even after the Battle has left him with a fever and broken bones, Kili won't submit to bed rest with any grace. The stubborn prince won't even eat. Thank Mahal, then, for the timely arrival of an elf with a fresh pot of pheasant soup.Kili / Tauriel
Relationships: Kíli (Tolkien)/Tauriel (Hobbit Movies)
Comments: 21
Kudos: 94





	Strong Medicine

**Author's Note:**

> This is a stand alone fic, unrelated to my other Kiliel stories.

Tauriel could hear the arguing from halfway down the hallway to Kíli's room. The young warrior prince had a surprisingly strong voice for someone with broken ribs and pneumonia besides.

"I want to stand beside Thorin and Fíli," he was demanding.

Another deep voice—Dwalin's, Tauriel thought—returned, "Lad, yer in no fit state—"

"I'm not asking your permission. I'm commanding you, as your prince!"

"And as _your_ elder, I'm tellin' you yer not leavin' this room, even if I have to sit on you, yer cracked ribs be damned."

There was an answering groan of pained frustration, though Tauriel was sure Dwalin had not actually acted on his threat. Briefly though she'd watched him, she knew the rough warrior had a strong affection for his young kinsman.

"Well, you can take that away," Kíli said after a few more seconds. "I'm going outside to eat at least."

"Kíli, yer not," Dwalin said more kindly. "Ye can eat here." There was a pause. "You need to eat, to keep yer strength up."

"I tell you, I'm strong enough to get up. Take it." Kíli's tone was almost peevish.

Tauriel reached the antechamber of Kíli's room just as Dwalin was coming in from the bedroom beyond.

"If I weren't so glad he's alive, I could kill the lad myself," he grumbled, not to her, but to Óin who sat in a chair by the fire here. "Wouldn't even touch this," he said, setting down a bowl of what looked to be porridge. "Says he won't eat if we don't let him out."

Óin nodded knowingly. "I ain't that deaf yet. Lad's bellowing would wake a sleeping dragon."

"May I be of any help?"

The two dwarves started when Tauriel spoke, then looked over her, taking in the steaming pot she carried on one arm, the bowl and spoon in the other. "Pheasant soup," she explained.

Dwalin gave a long-drawn laugh. "I reckon if he'll eat for anyone, he'll eat for you." He nodded towards the inner door. "Well, go on."

The room beyond was sparsely furnished, just a bed at one side near the fire, with a small chair and table beside it. Tauriel supposed that one day, the prince's room would be far more richly appointed, but for now only the necessities had been salvaged from the wreckage of Erebor's wealth.

Kíli's first glance was sharp, combative; then his expression softened as he saw it was she. "Tauriel," he said, as if he needed to prove to himself that she was truly here.

"Yes, Kíli." Once before he had doubted that she would really come for him, but soon he would learn to trust what she felt for him. "I am glad to find you awake and mending."

His mouth lifted slightly in a smile. "Can't you tell them I'm well enough to get up?"

"I am sure you are strong enough to do anything you want," Tauriel said. His deeds in the recent battle had given ample proof of his unconquerable dwarven fortitude. "But that does not mean you should."

Kíli's shrug of disappointment set off a sudden coughing fit that wracked his entire frame. By the time he regained control of his lungs, his brow was twisted in pain and sweat dotted his forehead. He wiped his face on his sleeve and then glanced to her again, clearly grateful that she had refrained from further comment.

"Are you hungry?" She gestured with the bowl.

"Did they send you?"

"What do you think?"

His suspicion melted into something hopeful. "No."

"I was already thinking of you, _hîr hadhod."_

He smiled a little. "I am hungry."

Tauriel scooped soup into the bowl, handed it to him, sat down.

Kíli sniffed at the steam. "Pheasant?"

"Indeed."

"Mmm, it's good." He slurped another spoonful. "Did you make it?"

"Yes. And shot the bird."

His cheeks colored, though not—she thought—from fever.

"How about these weird mushrooms?" He prodded a floating slice with his spoon. "You picked those?"

"I got them from the cook. Don't you like them?"

"They look funny, but they're all right." He chewed one slowly. "My cousin got sick from bad mushrooms he found in the woods, once."

She gave him a teasing look. "Kíli, I wouldn't have taken the trouble to heal you if I were only going to poison you later."

He chuckled, groaned faintly, and then resumed his meal.

"More?" she asked when he handed back his empty bowl.

"Maybe later." He settled back into his pillows and offered her a resigned smile. "If you won't let me go out, at least tell me what's going on up there."

"We tend the wounded and bury the dead," she said. "The Lakemen have raised a cairn for their own. The orcs are still burning." She wrinkled her nose in disgust.

"Dwalin said Thorin and your King were meeting today. I wanted to be there." He shifted impatiently beneath his blankets.

"I was invited to attend the meeting," she said. "But I begged Legolas to excuse me."

Kíli raised a quizzical brow.

Tauriel felt the corner of her mouth curve up. "I cannot keep a calm temper when my feelings are strongly involved," she said. "But I convinced Legolas my diplomatic skills might be put to a better use elsewhere."

Kíli was shaken by another coughing fit, so Tauriel could not guess how he took this information. She handed him a cup of water, and he accepted with a grateful nod.

As he gave back the cup, their hands brushed. His skin felt hot. Tauriel laid a hand to his forehead. "Stars! You're still burning with fever," she said.

"I'm tough," he protested softly, still catching his breath.

"And a good thing, too." She smoothed damp hair back from his eyes. "You could have died, following your uncle over broken ice."

"You know he'd be dead if I hadn't."

"I know. You are very loyal. And very valiant." In her mind, she again saw Kíli charging after Thorin, throwing himself on Azog heedless of cracks in the frozen lake. Kíli had distracted the big orc long enough for Thorin to get past its defenses, but the bold young prince had nearly paid for their victory with his own life.

"I felt the world stop when you fell through the ice," she whispered. Her fingertips skimmed over his cheek, which was badly scratched.

"I'm glad," he said a bit roughly. "I mean, glad you were there to pull me out."

She had been about to dive in after him when he'd clawed his way to the surface, his armor miraculously shed. Tauriel wondered if he remembered that she had been weeping as she dragged him to shore.

Kíli took her hand down from his face and pressed it between his own bruised hands.

"I'm all right now, _amrâlimê,_ " he said.

Tauriel's heart skipped as she remembered the one other time he had called her by that dwarvish endearment. "So you are."

He smiled as he brought her hand to his lips. "You know," he said, apparently as an afterthought, "Since you agree I'm all right, you should allow me to get up."

"Kíli, you know that is not what I meant," she protested fondly.

He sighed, and Tauriel knew, from the slight strain about his eyes, that the movement pained him. With his cracked ribs, surely every breath was an agony. Indeed, she was impressed that he did not seem to be suffering more.

"Have you taken anything for the pain?" she asked.

Kíli shook his head and glanced to the small flask on his bedside table. "I didn't come halfway across Middle-earth just to lie in bed and sleep. Besides, it tastes vile."

Tauriel poured the medicine into Kíli's cup, sniffed, and made a face.

Kíli half smiled. "See?"

She sipped the bitter liquid, which tasted, if possible, worse than it smelled. "Ugh. Still, you will mend faster if you are able to rest." She moved to sit beside Kíli on the bed and offered the cup to him, holding it so that his lips would fall where hers had. He met her eyes for a moment, clearly aware of what she was doing. But he drained the cup, evidently willing to sacrifice his stubbornness for this first indirect kiss.

Tauriel refilled the cup with water; as Kíli drank it, she sat back against the pillows beside him. It was pleasant here, the warmth and quiet an inviting contrast after the bitter winter wind and the commotion of three army camps outside. Valar, but she was weary after all. Between searching out the wounded, attending her elven prince, and hunting a pheasant for this dwarven one, she had found little time to rest since yesterday's battle. She allowed herself to close her eyes, just for a moment…

Her head nodded to the side, knocking Kíli's own.

"Tauriel?"

She roused herself. "Even elves need to sleep," she admitted, teasing. She did not wish him to think of her as invulnerable and therefore above him.

"Have you slept, since the battle?"

"A few hours."

"Not enough," he said, matter of fact, as if he had been the one arguing the importance of rest all this time. "There's room here." He shifted, freeing more space at her side of the bed.

Tauriel sat up. "I'll go; I don't want to trouble you." In spite of herself, she yawned.

"You won't. Besides, if you go, I might try to get up again."

"You wouldn't dare."

A yawn split his own face, then turned to a suppressed cough. "Maybe not." He took her hand. "But please stay. Having you here, I feel better already." Kíli's smile was earnest, vulnerable.

She blushed, cheeks and heart both warming at his words. She knew how he felt: she was glad just to be near him and know he was alive, he was safe.

"As you wish, _hadhod nín,_ " Tauriel said. Tucking her feet up on the coverlet, she nestled her head against his shoulder. "Is that comfortable?"

Kíli settled their laced hands in his lap and closed his eyes.

"Perfect."

She felt his fingers threading through her hair and the scratch of his cheek against her brow. Tauriel made an inarticulate happy sound, her body too tired and her heart too full to find words for what she felt.

Kíli's breathing was heavier than usual, but its steady rhythm was comforting, as was the solid warmth of his body at her side; and Tauriel felt the tension of the past hard sennight release her at last. It might have been the effect of the sleeping draft—even a few sips of that strong medicine was enough to affect an elf—but she knew she could never credit a potion for the sense of rightness and belonging that had her glowing from the tips of her fingers to the very ends of her hair. No, surely that sensation was due solely to this particular dwarf.

 _"Amrâlimê,"_ she whispered, finally locating the one word that was strange and beautiful enough to mean what she needed.

From the twitch of his cheek and the warm gust of his breath against her face, she knew he smiled. "Yes."

And if Dwalin did look in some time later and find the elf and the dwarf prince curled up and sleeping against each other, Tauriel did not notice—even if she had, she would not have cared.

**Author's Note:**

>  _hîr hadhod_ \- "lord dwarf"
> 
>  _hadhod nín_ \- "my dwarf"
> 
> I wrote most of this fic over two years ago, but wasn't completely happy with it then. Looking at it this week, I found I liked it much better than I remembered, so I fixed it up and here it is. I hope you like it!


End file.
